


Stranded and Struggling

by CherryK



Series: Azeroth and Beyond - A Collection of Cherry's OC Shenanigans [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Arguments and Shouting, Boralus, Campfires, Drustvar, Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Knives, Kul Tiras, SI:7, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-04 19:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18350552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryK/pseuds/CherryK
Summary: Kaldorei Ilethar Evenwisp has left the mainland and sailed to Kul Tiras, chasing after Arysea Nightstalker to try and stop her from charging at the Horde without too much of a plan. He... may want to develop a plan of his own first, though, or there will be consequences for his actions.





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> This piece will contain multiple chapters of my OC Ilethar's adventures in Kul Tiras. It's written alongside ingame RP and... I'll be updating sporadically, whenever I've come up with something new.

When Ilethar asks to be transferred to Kul Tiras it does not take long for the SI:7 to hand him a standard-size travelling cloak and a ticket for the next vessel leaving for Boralus. The Alliance needs every volunteer it can get its hands on, they tell him. Bloodied hands, he thinks grimly, and packs up his belongings. The keys to his working space are handed to the poor soul who has been put in charge during his absence – a shaking young human, visibly intimidated by his towering appearance. There is no doubt that the boy will have made a mess of everything by the time of his return.

He boards the “Lion’s Justice” at dawn. The crossing is said to take two weeks. Using a portal would be much more efficient, but it would also draw unwanted attention to the mage upon setting foot on foreign soil. He will have to sit this one out.

Ilethar’s too-short cloak awkwardly clings to his knees in the breeze wafting in from the ocean. He has purposely neglected to put up the hood, which does little to accommodate a Kaldorei’s ears. It is not as though anyone would recognize him anyway. In the crowd he’s just another faceless mage, another faceless soldier, on his way to wage war against the Horde. Except that he has little to no desire to even get face-to-face with one of the opposing faction’s people, that is.  
Among dozens of other travellers, the mage settles against the railing and faces the grey horizon, a line barely distinguishable from the masses of water beneath it. His priorities include meeting up with Theraan and eventually getting a hold of Arysea, before she becomes too immersed in her plans of revenge.

The ship disembarks to the sound of shouting sailors, tolling bells, and shrieking seagulls. “Off to new pastures”, the humans would say with hope in their voices, yet Ilethar is unsure what to make of their words.


	2. Fuelled by Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilethar and Theraan have found Arysea deep within the woods of Drustvar, but the campfire's flames only stoke her hunger for revenge.

„Why are you staring at me?“

While Theraan has already retreated for the night, Ilethar has been pondering over the next steps in this mess of a scouting mission by the campfire. Arysea has taken to sharpening her myriad of weapons and as it appears the combination of her mere presence and the chinking sounds of her knives have involuntarily drawn the mage’s attention. Only now does he realize, however, that he’s been watching her absentmindedly – her question brings him back to reality. He straightens up, now really looking at her.

“I’m not _staring_ at you, I just…”

She puts her dagger aside. “Of course you’re not, how _unbecoming_ of the grand archmage to let his gaze wander like that.” He can practically taste the sarcasm in her voice.

“Don’t mock me, I was… thinking!”

“Thinking.” She’s grinning wolfishly.

“Yes, thinking. What of it?”

“Oh, nothing.” Arysea leans forward and rests her elbows on her thighs, head on her palms, silver eyes watching his reaction closely. Her grin fades when he remains stoic. “Look. I’m not here to cause trouble. Not for you, at least. You know what they _officially_ sent me here for.”

Ilethar nods. “I am well aware.” He pauses, picks up a small stick, and begins to turn it around in his hands. “Still, I am also aware of what they have done to you. To us. Our kind.”

Something fierce fuelled by loss flares up in her eyes. She straightens her back.

“And they will answer for their crimes. _She_ will suffer for them.” Her voice rises, thick with anger she’s repressed for too long. “If I get the chance to take her out myself, I will make sure her rotten corpse stays dead for good!”

The mage throws the stick into the flames, watches as it lights up and becomes one with its surroundings. “Ary.”

“Her minions are no better than her, whatever their race. How can they even live with themselves after allowing such…” She shakes her head, “after _partaking in_ such atrocities!”

“Ary, please,” he says, more firmly this time.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re suddenly excusing what they’ve done?”

“No, what has happened cannot be forgiven. But shouldn’t you, the skilled assassin, know better than to slaughter Horde soldiers at random?”

Her eyes widen. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, at a loss for words. “Know better? Do you, the sophisticated mage, even listen to yourself? Murder is what I do for a living! And don’t tell me this isn’t political because it damn well is!”

He holds up his hands before she can continue. “I am not trying to defend _them_. I am trying to advise you to tread carefully. Don’t do anything you may regret later on. I would not argue if this were Ashenvale or even Darkshore,” he gestures at the looming trees surrounding their camp, “but here, on this land, on this mission, you are on your own. They outnumber you.”

Arysea is still bristling, sharp teeth bared like a feral cat, and something about her reminds Ilethar of a defiant child. “I am the Nightstalker. They won’t even see me coming.” She remains silent then, fuming; the only sounds left are those coming from the vast forests of Drustvar and the crackling fire between them.

The mage can see her digging her nails into the fabric of her pants. He stretches, and then sits cross-legged. “I know you can fend for yourself. I’ve seen you throwing daggers with scary precision. But thinking twice before acting is better than a greedy goblin selling your head as a war trophy.” The very thought of losing her to the enemy, to anyone, leaves him cold.

Finally she exhales loudly; the tension from her shoulders dissolves somewhat. The Nightstalker rises from her kneeling position. “I’ll be fine.” She begins to put away her knives. The last two she straps to her legs, ready to use whenever needed. “Mission comes first. After that, I might just… let one of the green-skins disappear under mysterious circumstances, who knows.” Her way of showing that she heard him, but is probably planning on doing something reckless anyway.

Ilethar watches her retreat to her tent, dread settling in his gut. Arysea faces him once more before she enters. “Look,” she sounds more placable now, “I know you care, but you care too much for your own good. This is war. You don’t get to control who lives and who dies unless you take matters into your own hands.” She turns away. “And by Elune’s grace, I don’t plan on wasting my chances.”


	3. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edallath delivers Ilethar, who has disobeyed direct orders by seeking out Arysea, to Spymaster Shaw...

They take him back to Boralus in chains. An image most unbecoming of an honourable mage – especially one affiliated with the SI:7 – and one that earns him disbelieving stares from fellow agents as they lead him through the harbour to the facilities that are doubtlessly occupied by Spymaster Shaw himself. Ilethar doesn’t resist, would be a fool to do so. They have caught him going off grid and Shaw will make him pay for this misstep in whichever way he sees fit.

Anger coils within him like a snake and he vigorously shuts down the emotion as the door to Shaw’s office is locked behind him. The guards push him down into a wooden chair, like he’s a subject in a murder investigation. He forces himself to breathe calmly, to stay reasonable.

“It has come to my attention that one of my agents has gotten a little lost in the dark woods of Drustvar.” The Spymaster turns from his spot by the window, facing Ilethar with an unreadable expression. “What happened to investigating those Azerite deposits near Arom’s Stand? Getting in and out unseen? What part of your orders, pray tell, involved prolonged contact with another agent, who is currently off on a solo mission at the other end of the forest? You _are_ an illusionist capable of magically fading into nothingness, are you not?”

The guards’ stares bore into Ilethar’s back from both sides of the door. He shifts in his chair, but remains tight-lipped, avoids meeting Shaw’s eyes.

“You can never know whose eyes are watching, Evenwisp. You’re lucky they were a pair of our own, or you’d likely be dead in a ditch, along with agent Nightstalker. The Alliance cannot afford to lose sight of the enemy’s actions, is that clear? What in the Light’s name were you hoping to achieve by tracking her down, anyway?”

“What I was hoping to achieve?” Ilethar snaps, looking up. “Sir?” he complements, narrowly avoiding adding insult to injury. So much for staying reasonable. “With all due respect, Spymaster, you put a mourning, emotionally unstable agent behind enemy lines! Agent Nightstalker has not been herself since that crazed banshee burnt down Teldrassil, she no longer sees reason. I set out to find her before she could turn this into a suicide mission and I did, but thanks to agent Rivermourne giving away our position she may as well be dead by now!” The mage bristles with suppressed ire.

Shaw’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Unlike you, Edallath Rivermourne has been _assigned_ to track agent Nightstalker. She was our backup, should Nightstalker fail to gain intel from the goblins or be captured, as she was in the end. Your fellow agents will surely thank you for putting them at risk, and Nightstalker even more so, if she happens to survive her encounter with the Horde. At least Rivermourne _only_ came within a hair’s breadth of losing her life and managed to retrieve what we needed. You nearly cost me two important assets, Evenwisp.”

“So you knew of the risk! You knew she was unlikely to return and sent in yet another agent as backup, just for the intel? Do you, Sir, even care about the individual lives of your agents? Or is this what we are to you, replaceable goods to be discarded, as long as the mission gets done?” Ilethar strains against the chains around his wrists.

Shaw slams both hands down on the table in front of him, sending papers flying. “Do not cross me, night elf! What part of “we are at war” do you not understand? Sacrifices need to be made so the Alliance can advance! Or would you rather the Horde strikes us all down in one blow with the Azerite they’re hoarding? Shall I accuse you of high treason instead?”

There is venom in Ilethar’s words. “You will not question my loyalty, Spymaster, nor will you question my morals. I stand with the Alliance, but I will not stand with an organisation that forsakes their people behind enemy lines.”

A muscle underneath the Spymaster’s eye twitches. He seems to consider having the guards take the mage out of his sight before he gets a chance to strangle him, but the conclusion he comes to is that it would not be worth the consequences. It takes another moment for him to regain is bearings, then straightens, yet again towering over Ilethar.

“Fine,” he glowers once more at the kaldorei, “Agent Evenwisp, you are thus removed from active duty within the SI:7 and put under house arrest until further notice. You will not compromise any more missions in this campaign, not on my watch. Furthermore, be informed that your every move will be tracked. Should you so much as set a toe outside of Boralus, I will find out and have you taken back. And trust me when I say I will find ways to see through your little magic tricks, should you plan on disappearing entirely, do you understand?”

Ilethar’s glowing eyes remain locked with Shaw’s blue ones – a mutual assessment of an opponent that does not seem quite trustworthy.  The only noise is the commotion from the busy streets below the window. One of the guards by the door coughs. At least a minute has passed when the mage finally deems the spymaster worthy to receive an answer.

“Your orders are crystal clear, Spymaster.”

“I should damn well hope they are! Now get out of my sight, night elf. You will receive a note through one of my agents when I have decided how to proceed with you.”

Ilethar stares at him for a moment longer, hands balled to fists at his sides, then whips around and exits the room without neglecting to let the door clunk shut loudly behind him. There is something he needs to do about this. He cannot possibly just stay put in this city that reeks of dead fish while Arysea is still out there, possibly being tortured to death. Fuming, he makes a mental note to reach out to Theraan once he has sorted out his thoughts. If anyone can help him with this… impasse, it’s him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen y'all, I have no idea what I'm doing. I get a slight feeling that Shaw is OOC in this one. Bear with me.


	4. Watchful Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilethar is desperate to find a way out of his current situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be said that this elf is a dumbass.

He knows they are there, just outside his window. Always watching, ever vigilant, never tired of fulfilling Shaw’s orders. Taking notes on what he does, and when he does it, on where he goes and to whom he talks, and reporting every detail back to the Spymaster. He’s not sure how many of them there are, but he can feel their presence like a wooden splinter in his skin – not quite painful, but  _very_  irritating.

Insolent bastards, he can’t even sleep in peace, lest they think to invade his dreams as well.

Ilethar paces around his quarters, seething. The dark circles underneath his eyes make him appear slightly unhinged, and even his hair is only tied back in a loose bun instead of the usual impeccable ponytail. For days he has been trying to come up with a plan to free himself from the claws of Shaw’s house arrest, preferably without committing high treason in the process. Such scheming is quite the dangerous feat under the watchful eyes of several SI:7 agents just waiting to tell you off.

The commotion in the streets of Boralus has disappeared with the setting sun, and Ilethar would love to open his window for a while, but Shaw’s agents really don’t need to be able to  _hear_  him as well. Once the only source of light on Azeroth is Elune’s white glow, the mage will again dare to work on his plan of escape. There are dozens of factors to consider and possible negative outcomes include – among other things – getting hanged, drowned or locked away for all eternity. So far, even after two weeks spent holed up in this very room, he has not come to any useful conclusion. As a kaldorei he  _should_  be nocturnal, yet staying up no longer comes easy to him. Working only at night has disrupted his sleep schedule, and he feels taken back to his first months living in Stormwind, when the humans’ circadian rhythm was still a mystery to him.

When Elune finally rises high enough to peek over the top of the building across the street, he pulls the curtains on his window shut and makes sure no light filters through. To his advantage the fabric is opaque. He silently settles at the small desk by the bed and listens for any conspicuous sounds coming from outside. Let them believe he’s gone to sleep, sticking to his adopted daily routine. Ilethar conjures up a tiny ball of arcane energy, just bright enough to illuminate his immediate surroundings, then pulls out the piece of parchment he has used to take notes the night before, and gets to work.

Hours pass without a single fruitful thought crossing the mage’s mind, and much sooner than he would have liked he hears the birds beginning to sing outside. He sighs heavily, leans back in his chair, and rubs his burning eyes. The arcane orb flickers and dies beside him. For a good minute Ilethar sits in complete darkness, staring blankly ahead. His thoughts drift to Arysea and he sends a quick prayer to Elune that she may keep her safe. He pulls the hair tie free from the white mess on his head, letting the hair fall across his back. Too exhausted to try and find a brush to tend to it he rises from his seat and heads for the bed, both to keep the illusion of him sleeping through the night alive and to actually allow his body to rest for a few hours at least.

His hopes for getting out of this by himself are not high, and it bothers him. Ilethar sinks down onto the covers of his creaky bed and thinks the situation over one more time that morning. Sliding off his white linen shirt the mage makes a decision – he will leave his quarters tomorrow and send an enchanted letter to Theraan. He will know what to do, even if his way of solving the problem may be a little… unorthodox. He just hopes that the warlock has not left Kul Tiras again in pursuit of something greater.

Ilethar doesn’t hear the city come to life again that morning; he’s already lost in fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this within like three hours, I hope it doesn't show lmao.


End file.
